


context with character, rhyme with reasons

by gwmclintock88



Category: MASH (TV), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 14:43:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4352861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwmclintock88/pseuds/gwmclintock88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles, half-finished stories, could-of/should-of beens, and maybe something else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	context with character, rhyme with reasons

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not a huge fan of them, but I understand some stories end in a few words, others take longer. This is going to be a place where I release stuff that well is kind of on its lonesome until its not. These will be plot bunnies, cats, rats, cabbages, and kings. They will exist apart and connected to everything.
> 
> These are stories that have not started or have not gone far enough. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Clint wasn’t the first Hawkeye she knew.

She remembers a man from a mission, the polar one of hers. She remembers the brown tent, musty with blood, dusty with pain. She remembers waking for a moment before being lain down on a table and gentle voice telling her it’ll be alright. That same voice reassures her when she wakes and even through that roguish smile, she remembers those kind eyes that warm her.

He was an American, her enemy. He did more harm to her than any soldier ever could. But his weapon wasn’t a gun or a knife. It was his steady hand and sharp tongue. His armor was that white coat billowing behind him as he strode up and down the convalescence tent.  And damage he dealt saved her life.

She left as quickly as she arrived, though definitely quieter. She left the tent and the bandages and the care of her enemy. But he wasn't, and maybe they never were. For the kindness struck her harder than the blast that knocked her unconscious. The tenderness sliced deeper than the shrapnel. And his words, oh his voice. 

Love is for children and war is for monsters. She knew her place and left those kind eyes and wonderful spirit to save those he could. He couldn't save her, and sometimes she wishes she perished on that table, but he never would have let that happened. Not until the care of those eyes.

But until nearly a half century later, she saw the phantom of those eyes as an arrow stopped her cold.

She remembers the doctor she loved, if only because he showed her that hell is hell, and war is something worse.


End file.
